My Best Man by Andy Schell (unputdownable books .txt) 📗

I notice as we walk out of the cafe that almost every woman the place is holding a blood-soaked tourniquet in her lap and into a little purse mirror.

Before we leave the mall, Amity tells me she wants to get watchband replaced. I follow her into the upscale watch store, she approaches the salesman. Staring at her with a pissy look his face, he painfully asks, “May I help you?” He might as be saying, “Is there any help for you?” He’s fluffy and

His dyed-blond hair has been blow-dried and sprayed into a meringue. The manicured nails of his pudgy little hands poke dently out of his expensive suit sleeves, and the ring finger of left hand is adorned with a showy diamond wedding ring in shape of the state of Texas. His fine cologne hangs over the like an impermeable velvet awning, and I imagine it’s called Saleswoman Man.

“Yes,” Amity says sweetly. “I just need a replacement for

the band.” She takes the down scale watch off her wrist and lays it out on the counter. The bright lights of the glass case are unkind to the cheap black leather band, which is cracked and frayed on the sides.

He picks up the watch by one end and dangles it between his bulbous fingers as if he were holding a dead rat by the tail. “It appears you put some wear and tear on your timepiece,” he observes with a sniff.

“This is my work watch,” Amity tells him, undaunted, “it’s seen a lot of action.”

“Do you work construction?” he asks brazenly, adding a smile to get away with it.

Why doesn’t he just slap her in the face? Christ, I can’t believe he’d insult her so boldly. I look at Amity, wait for her to give it right back.

“Yes, I do work construction. I built this mall, darling’,” she answers, smiling.

She’s all class with a sense of humor too. God, my mom really would love her. The salesman definitely doesn’t. “Maybe you should purchase a nylon band this time,” he suggests haughtily.

I hate this mean, Southern class stuff that goes on in Texas. No one in Kansas would treat Amity this way. Well, maybe Winston would. Yes, he’d love to wave his Cartier watch in front of Amity’s face while scornfully looking at her substandard wristwatch. He’s been that way since we were kids measuring his good fortune by what others lack. When my mother bought us new shoes, he always insisted on having a different design that cost more than mine, and he would throw such a fit that my mother always acquiesced to his emotive theatrics. When eating at the club, even as young children, he’d insist that I order first and then make sure to order something more elaborate and expensive. And he loved the ceremonial handing down of his blue blazer to me each year, as he received his new one.

“Nylon is fine with me,” Amity says casually. “It’s just for work.” She thinks, then adds, “And play. And casual affairs. And dressy affairs. Come to think of it, maybe we better go a step above nylon, darling’.”

“A step above nylon?” the clerk chuckles.

I can’t stand to see him treat her this way for one more second “Have you never replaced your Rolex?” I ask her, a disbelieving look on my face.

Amity looks at me. It clicks. “No,” she sighs, playing along.

I look at the salesman. “Silly girl, she left it in the hotel room in Monte Carlo.”

“I did not,” she argues. “It was in Paris. I still had it in Carlo. I lost it in Paris after we spent the day with that duke and duchess from Austria or Atlanta I get the two mixed up.”

“Yucky couple,” I tell him. “All they did was change clothes and eat. Change clothes and eat.”

“Until the duchess practically rammed her tongue down throat in the powder room at the Ritz,” Amity tells the dishily. “That was when I realized she wanted to remove and eat.”

“And then eat some more,” I add, winking at the salesman. ] turn to Amity. “But I really think you lost it in Monte Carlo. think you traded it for chits or chips or whatever they call little gambling denominations the night we got tanked with Stephanie and made those recordings and ended up sleeping on Grimaldi yacht.”

“And which Rolex model did you own?” the man asks cally.

Amity and I take a few steps over to the glass case that everything Rolex. “Was it that one?” I ask, pointing to the piece encircled with diamonds.

“For heaven’s sake, Harry, don’t you remember Barcelona? explained the meaning of gaudy in relation to the work of

That Rolex is GaudL No, darling’, mine was the simple, tasteful standard model,” she says, pointing to it.

“Of course. Let’s replace it,” I say, grabbing the wallet from my pocket and taking out one of the two new credit cards I’ve acquired since landing my steward job. All I’ve bought is a gym membership for myself. It’s time to buy something for Amity. I turn to the clerk. “That one. We’ll take it.” Amity looks at me with awe, an eyebrow raised. The sales clerk has his doubts. But I keep my eyes drilled into him, as if to say, “Get the watch, girlie.” He does. Amity’s right eyebrow raises to meet her left one, and her eyeballs expand like little helium balloons. “Put it on,” I suggest. She’s in shock as she realizes our game has transcended into reality. She places it on her wrist, locks it into place. It fits perfectly. And looks gorgeous. She takes her youthful hand and runs it through her blond hair. “It is so nice to finally have my watch back,” she tells me with a shit-eating grin on her face. She almost has to stifle a laugh.

I know it’s crazy. I have no money. And she already has a watch, but it’s such a pathetic little thing, barely